


The Dark, but Not Empty; The Night, but Not Lonely

by goldengoddess



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Kissing, M/M, Self-Indulgent, Unbeta'd, bein Really in love w ur bf, hanzo makes a pun, i just needed teeth rotting fluff so here it is, mccree plays the harp, talking about stars and shit, which seem to be a common theme in my stuff but. shrugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 11:07:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7615666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldengoddess/pseuds/goldengoddess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Didja ever think it was gonna turn out this way? Your life, I mean.” </p><p>“Of course not.” Hanzo said, his legs crossed and head looking down into the small bed of orange lights, far down the mountain and past the creek. “Did you?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dark, but Not Empty; The Night, but Not Lonely

**Author's Note:**

> *waves hands* get this outta my Sight  
> prompts will be continued shortly. 2 more and then finishing this weird reaper centric fic im working on.  
> thanks for reading!

                “Didja ever think it was gonna turn out this way? Your life, I mean.” McCree breathed into the air, his words drifting between the haze of cigar smoke. His posture against the grass laden hill, one arm propped behind at the elbow, the rest of his body splayed out underneath the night sky, his eyes drifting between constellations and planets. Neither had seen this many stars for a long time.

                “Of course not.” Hanzo said, his legs crossed and head looking down into the small bed of orange lights, far down the mountain and past the creek. “Did you?”

                “Nah,” McCree took the cigar from his teeth and tapped the ashes into the ground. “I don’t know anything before it happens.” He brought it back to his mouth, the glow at the end brightening, and then burning back into the low ember, “My foresights shit, y’know. That’s why I never became a fortune teller.”

                Hanzo exhaled through his nose, a small smile on his lips, “Somehow, I can imagine you as one.” He looked from over his shoulder to McCree, grinning back at him. He was a strange man with a funny way of viewing the world. He had that terrible gold vein of old American optimism and behind the façade of chuckles and indecipherable idioms, he was quite quick, in word and duel alike.

                “Yeah?” McCree sat up a notch, his other elbow going back into the soft tangled grass. “Like tarot and star maps or big crystal ball?”

                He rolled his eyes, “Tarot.”

                “Really,” He sat up all the way, bringing his legs into a cross like Hanzo. “I had an aunt who was obsessed with that stuff. She wasn’t real good at reading them- sometimes made up answers- but good enough I could tell when she was lying.”

                Hanzo looked over. He still had a grin, but it was far off in some memory he hadn’t accessed in decades. “When my grandmother died, all she wrote my father for in her will was a star map.” Hanzo chuckled, “He was angry, angrier than most times. He burnt the book and called her a witch.” Hanzo ran his thumb across his knuckles, the dark hillside and air cool and cleansing. “Genji had already stolen pages from it. She was his favorite relative. Just senile enough to make sense of him.”

                McCree took Hanzo’s hand, clasping his over it. He was warm and calloused, but familiar and kind. He brought it up to his lips and laughed, “God, Hanzo, you’re amazing.”

                He blushed, “What do you say that for?”

                “I was just thinkin’,” McCree pulled Hanzo onto their backs, looking up at the stars, “You know, if I stayed with Deadlock and all that, and you stayed with your dad’s buddies, would we have met?”

                The idea was strange, but possible. A far off one, but both McCree’s former gang and Hanzo’s had dealt in international trade and cartel. It was likely that the two organizations would have brushed at one point, if they had been allowed to thrive. “It’s unlikely. Maybe we would have done business, but not face to face between us two.”

                “Hm.” McCree thought, head tilted to touch Hanzo’s shoulder. “And yet, we did. That’s unbelievable. Out of this world.” He stretched his hand to the sky, rolling his fingers like he was testing if they still worked, “That one’s Vega.” His hand flashed into a finger pointing towards a blue star. “I forget his name, but there was this man who played the harp so nice and fine even the gods’d get entranced. S’part of the summer triangle.”

                “Did your aunt teach you that?”

                “Sure did.” He gave a short laugh, “You know I play the harp?”

                Hanzo raised his eyebrows.

                “Not well- not well enough, really. Haven’t touched one in a lifetime, but I learned.” He nodded, “I bet I could pick out ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’, though.”

                He stopped, letting the sound of the Earth growing fill the air. As he put out his smoke, the sneaking suspicion that McCree wasn’t as bad with music as he made himself out to be rose in Hanzo’s heart as he hummed something soft.

                “In Japan, people say that the star was a lady who fell in love with a mortal. Her father disallowed them from meeting and he had to cross the Milky Way.” Hanzo spoke in a quiet jolt, “They reunite some years, and when they do not it rains. Those are her tears.”

                “That’s awfully sad, don’tcha think?”

                It was. “Yes.” He replied, and then said after a pause, “Some would say that they are star crossed.”

                McCree looked up in disbelief to see Hanzo grinning up at the moon.

                “Oh, you’re proud of yourself for that one, huh?” McCree groaned. He laughed and shook his head, leaning up to pull over Hanzo and kiss him on the cheek. “You proud of yourself?”

                Hanzo sat up and kissed him back, “Yes.” He held him by the end of his serape, taking in the moon that glinted off of his eyes. He was smiling, teeth and all, the worn wool in his hands scruff-soft from years of use.

                “You’re staring.” McCree said, grinning like a fool. They were inches from each other’s face, but comfortable.

                “I’m allowed to.” Hanzo placed another kiss to his lips.

                “Who gave you that permission, now?”

                “It was written in the stars.”

                McCree laughed his slow, warm laugh, “What a romantic this guy is, get a load of him.” He said to no one, reciprocating the kiss Hanzo gave this time, his hand brushing Hanzo’s chin. Warm, soft, comfortable, flannel in winter and a cup of hot apple cider, the sound the washing machine makes through the walls that’s only comforting when it’s the one at home, Neosporin on a small cut and the sound of someone singing when they think no one’s there to hear. McCree radiated strength and the earth and dark soil. He was the gentle touch of night and the evening after a hot day full of sun. He was the moon chasing the stars over a forest, over a black-blue sea. Hanzo pulled away. He was the cold, but not freezing, the dark, but not empty, the night, but not lonely. Hanzo sighed.

                “Whatcha thinking ‘bout?” McCree asked, hand still beside Hanzo’s cheek.

                “Jesse,”

                “Huh?”

                “Jesse, you’re amazing.”


End file.
